


Blackguard

by scarecrowes



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarecrowes/pseuds/scarecrowes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're fulla bad ideas folks like thinkin' are good ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackguard

Loneliness chews at the pit of his stomach. 

He’ll never admit it to a soul, but it does.

The closest he’ll come to that ownership is later, with his promise of opened windows and unlocked doors after prison . It’s a promise only partially kept, because there’s only so many unlocked doors you can keep between the boss and somebody with a gun and a bad idea.

Right now, though, he’s full of bad ideas. It’s something Meyer said once, or maybe it was Frank, all pretending to be old and wise with his stiff back and stuffed shirt and no gun. 

_Charlie, you’re fulla bad ideas folks like thinkin’ are good ones._

So maybe that’s why he’s here, wiping blood off his face with a slip torn from a clothesline four stories back up. Feeling gangly and awkward like he’s still sixteen with ripped up knuckles, all his bad ideas, not twenty-four with a hole the size of a near-miss in his coat sleeve, a split in his lip and unkind reputation. 

He isn’t sure if the stains in his shirt will come out, even though he’s learned all the stupid tricks you can use vinegar for. _It’s silk, goddamn it_ , and that stings almost as much as the fact that he bought this one himself. 

He’ll leave the slip spattered in blood and saliva on the alley concrete - it was cheap but soft like a blouse his mother might wear in spite of the money he leaves. But hell if he’ll think of that _now_.

It stank of mothballs anyway, damp from the humidity of near-rain. 

He ends up on O’s fire escape because it’s easier than trudging his stains through the building and easier than dragging himself back across town. Fully intending on dragging out whatever fella might be hanging around, he gets her sharp eyes and her curls in the window instead, muffled screeching that grows clearer as the window slides up and she balls her fists in his newly red shirt.

“ _Christ_ , Charlie you’re gonna gimme a goddamn _heart attack--”_  

His shirt slops over the edge of her bathroom sink; he stares at the darkening bruise on the back of his hand, the groove where his ring cut in. He’ll call later to tell Meyer the drop went fine but for the mean little details he’ll leave out, dripping onto O’s floor. He’ll call uptown too, if only to see if there’s a game on, a hand that might wait a while- 

He sits on the rim of the tub and listens to Odette reassure Harrow, out in the hall where he’d heard her screaming. 

He almost wants to ask if she’d love him if she could - but he can’t, he doesn’t _want to_ , and chews his tongue instead. 


End file.
